


Youtube From The Closet

by Slashy Goodness (allmadhere)



Series: Kink Bingo [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Fuck City
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Exhibitionism, Kink, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmadhere/pseuds/Slashy%20Goodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick shoots Mixon this look. That's how Pete knows. It's not his 'shut up, I'm trying to finish this song' look or his 'I really don't understand why you listen to the 13-year-olds curse when you kill them in Call of Duty' look or even his 'I'm being benevolent and indulgent while you watch the most blatantly homosexual of all American sports' look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youtube From The Closet

Patrick shoots Mixon this look. That's how Pete knows. It's not his 'shut up, I'm trying to finish this song' look or his 'I really don't understand why you listen to the 13-year-olds curse when you kill them in Call of Duty' look or even his 'I'm being benevolent and indulgent while you watch the most blatantly homosexual of all American sports' look. This one was heated and practically dripping with sinfulness, accompanied with a little bite of the lips. If Pete hadn't turned to inform Joe that he was changing his bet from the Packers to whoever the other team was to spite Andy, he might have missed it entirely. He stares at Patrick blankly for a few seconds before turning back to watch the rest of the game silently, his betting announcement forgotten.

That is why he is shoving himself into the cramped hotel closet, squirming and trying not to step on the vast array of Patrick's shoes littering the floor. Mixon had dragged Patrick down to the hotel's single still open bar for a quick bite to eat the second they got in from the venue. Pete had no idea why they didn't just order room service. It was the same thing, wasn't it? He finally finds an arrangement of limbs that works when the lights flick on too bright after the darkness. Pete has to cover his mouth to keep from hissing too loudly.

"I don't know why we didn't just order room service," Patrick says and Pete watches him walk by the tiny closet. "It would have been the exact same food." He's already peeling himself out of the sweat-sticky shirts, comfortable around Mixon in a way that he never seems to be around Pete. He's almost jealous of the bastard for getting to see all that pale skin without even having to fight for it.

"Because half the fun of being on a tour is seeing at least some of the places you stop in," Mixon pronounces as he ambles in after Patrick. He closes the door slowly and deliberately, sliding the heavy locks into place with a few clicks. "Besides, I wanted to get Pete out the room without telling him to go. Then he'd never leave."

Patrick hums and Mixon smirks before crossing the room. "We wouldn't want that, now would we?" They share a smile before their lips meet in the sweetest kiss Pete's ever seen. It's slow and gentle and deliberate like a love ballad. The temptation to write a song about kisses like that is surprisingly strong.

"Wouldn't want that at all," Mixon agrees, so soft Pete has to strain to hear it. Mixon trails a large hand lightly up and down Patrick's right side, making him shiver, before letting the appendage settle on his hip. "Since we conveniently have the room to ourselves until we decide to let him in, we should take advantage."

Pete can see Patrick's frown from across the room as he looks nervously over Mixon's shoulder. "Shit, you know if he comes back, he'll either come straight in or sit outside and whine. What if he listens?" The self-conscious Patrick that Pete knows all too well is out in full force, biting at his lip nervously. His fingers start twitching like he might drag a shirt on and plant himself in front of the TV for the night. Pete nearly groans in frustration.

Mixon's fingers are on his chin, pulling him in for another soft kiss on the lips. He mutters something with a wicked grin that sends shivers down Pete's spine and Patrick kisses him hard and dirty. Mixon guides them towards the bed, never once breaking their kiss, until the backs of Patrick's thighs hit the mattress. Pete takes a long moment to simply enjoy the view, trying to lean forward and not put too much pressure on the door. It rattles under his hand slightly and he holds his breath, but neither of the two now crawling up the bed seem to notice.

Patrick sighs when they finally break apart, letting Mixon chase after his lips as they roll over. "Wanna blow you," he murmurs just loud enough for Pete to hear. He can feel his cock stir in the loose sweatpants he was glad he had the foresight to wear. Patrick's shaking fingers fumble at Mixon's zipper, hurrying to pull down the jeans.

"Hey, hey, slow down, babe," Mixon soothes, pulling Patrick in for another slow, tender kiss. "We have all the time we need so don't rush." Patrick grins, his hands holding only a faint tremor now, and kisses Mixon as he tugs at the zipper again. His fingers trail over the half-hard cock in Mixon's boxers and Pete tries to mimic it on himself. He knows it isn't half as good as whatever Patrick's doing to to make Mixon's hips rise off the bed in search of friction.

Patrick's far less patient with the boxers, a quick glare making sure Mixon helps to get them off. Pete plunges his hand into his own worn briefs as Patrick wraps a hand around Mixon, drawing soft sighs all around. Pete takes the slow easy pace Patrick establishes and tries to mimic it despite the calluses being all wrong and the skin not being nearly soft enough. He's fully hard and squirming what seems like ages before Mixon. If he were the type to be jealous of that sort of thing, he would be jealous of Mixon's dick.

Pete doesn't even noticed that they're kissing again until Patrick is trailing down Mixon's body. Pete groans softly when he sees the bulge in Patrick's too tight jeans rub over Mixon's thigh but the noise is mostly covered by Patrick's stifled moan. Patrick licks a long stripe from root to tip of Mixon's cock when he finally reaches it. He smiles in satisfaction when Mixon throws an arm over his face and Pete bucks into his own hand.

Patrick pins Mixon's hips to the bed before he ever lets his lips touch his cock. The second those shiny red lips do slide over the head, Mixon's entire lower body twitches with want. Pete can sympathize. He's spent years dreaming of fucking that golden throat raw. He has to close his eyes and try to control his breathing to keep from making any noise but the wet sounds of Patrick working over Mixon's dick and the unexpected hitches in Mixon's breathing make it impossible. An obscenely slick pop forces Pete to open his eyes and watch breathlessly as Patrick pulls off. He ignores Mixon's tiny whine and sits up enough to undo his jeans and roughly shove a hand inside. The grunt he lets out at the first pull forces Pete to squeeze his own dick, then pull his hand out and lick it before shoving it back in. He won't let this end before they do. He isn't sure who he wishes he could be anymore.

As Mixon's moans and Patrick's sounds of slightly smug pleasure reach a peak, Pete forgets, just for a moment, that's he's crouched awkwardly in a hotel closet watching his best friend give another what looks like the most gratifying blowjob ever. He forgets and lets only a few moans slip out as his spit-slicked hand blurs over his dick. He remembers just where he is when Mixon lets out a choked sobbing noise as Patrick forcefully holds down his hips with both hands. The sight is enough to make Pete spill into his briefs, panting heavily under the sounds of Mixon gasping as his back arches off the bed. Patrick's throat works, Adam's apple bobbing, and only a tiny dribble of come and saliva makes its way down his chin. Pete whimpers and his dick twitches sorrily in the mess of his pants as Patrick's finger swipes it up and his tongue licks it away.

Mixon dives at Patrick the second he can, rolling them over and almost to the opposite edge of the bed. One hand disappears into Patrick's open jeans, drawing out a long musical moan, as their lips lock messily yet again. Patrick's gone in less then a dozen firm strokes with a broken note. They sag contentedly into the soft mattress for long minutes, simply breathing, and Pete starts to feel the ache in his legs that will make him maybe regret this tomorrow. Mixon finally tugs a sleepy Patrick out of bed and drags him into the bathroom. Pete seriously considers waiting around but decides against it when his legs start to tremble with exertion.

As soon as the shower starts, Pete begins to quietly unfold himself and ease open the closet door. He steps out carefully, closing it behind him just as quietly. He winces at the congealing mess in his pants but simply grabs his room key off the table by the door and sneaks out and down to the gym.

Andy is down there, frowning at a set of kettlebells. He takes one glance at Pete's mussed hair and the small wet splotch on his low-hanging sweats and shakes his head. "There's showers over there. Don't thank me, just never talk about this."


End file.
